Parimutuel Betting
by XenaEatsGrapes
Summary: Place your bets! How many bones will Tom Paris have to break before he hits a home run with B'Elanna and is there any chance Chakotay will score with the Captain first?


**Parimutuel Betting**

This ficlet was created for VAMB's Secret Drabble 2014. Much love to Starleet Rebel for her prompt, _well that went badly_! Many thanks to my pre-readers/betas: Poppy, Anji, Michele, Anita, Barbra and Silke.

* * *

Well, that went badly," Captain Janeway said after the turbo lift doors closed. "For you, Mr. Paris. Wouldn't you agree?" Her tone suggested she was daring him to answer.

Janeway maintained her visual lock on the view screen and willed the heat blistering her cheeks to dissipate in the cold blackness of space. When she heard her crew beginning to shift nervously, she glanced around the bridge and found only one pair of eyes. The other officers had various reasons, no doubt, to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

Hell, Tom Paris shouldn't be able to look at himself in a mirror.

_..._

Janeway thought it was a joke when Voyager's half-Klingon engineering chief, B'Elanna Torres stormed the bridge wielding a bouquet. However, there was nothing funny about the verbal assault she launched on Tom Paris.

"PetaQ! You think a few pretty flowers will help you find your way into my bed?"

All motion on Voyager's bridge came to a full and complete stop.

"B'Elanna, I think you've misinterpreted my intent."

So much for discrete fraternization, Janeway thought, wishing she and her first officer had not returned to the bridge after a working dinner in the ready room.

"I replicated the flowers to apologize for missing our date. I'm working a double." Beads of perspiration proliferated on Paris' brow.

"I can't really say I noticed you weren't in the mess hall, since, despite your absence, you were the subject of most conversation." Torres definitely hadn't noticed the command team standing on the bridge. " It seems a lot of your regular customers — you know the ones whose rations you steal — are eager to 'fix' a particular race."

Chakotay leaned toward the combatants, preparing to intervene, but Janeway caught his hand. Paris deserved to sweat.

"Profits are turned over to Neelix and the dining hall," Paris stammered. "No one has ever gone hungry because they've indulged in a little harmless gambling."

Torres swatted a bulkhead with the bouquet she fisted, scattering petals on the floor. "Harmless? Our friends are betting on how many of your broken bones the Doctor will have to mend when we consummate our relationship?"

"Actually, I think the odds favor death," Paris admitted.

Torres began to advance."Oh? That sounds like a certain outcome to me."

Janeway would put money on it.

"As soon as people started partnering up, you turned romance into a sport. Is our relationship another ploy to increase interest in your off-track betting schemes?"

"B'Elanna…"

"Despite what the odds predict, Chakotay will slide between the Captain's silky sheets long before you're biting my back, buster."

Harry cleared his throat.

"Oh, that's right, Harry." Until that moment, Torres didn't seem to be aware that she and Paris were not the only people on the bridge. "Chakotay is no longer the odds on favorite to win Kathryn Janeway's heart."

Harry attempted to wave Torres off. "Captain on the bridge."

A good slap across the face might bring people back to their senses.

"Lieutenant, hormones and a wounded ego have compromised your decision-making abilities. You've got about six hours before your next duty shift. Get yourself squared away; I'll see you in my ready room at oh-seven-hundred."

B'Elanna Torres exhaled loudly.

"You heard the Captain," Chakotay growled. "Retreat. Now."

Torres marched on to the turbo lift. Abandoning the battlefield was not in her nature.

"Well, that went badly… for you, Mr. Paris. Wouldn't you agree?"

For the moment, the Captain was focused on temper control, giving Paris the opportunity to look at some of his shipmates.

Harry was scrutinizing the ceiling like he'd seen a tiny spider, while Chakotay examined the rose petals littering the carpet with a mental tricorder. Having the Captain interrogating his comrades regarding their odd behavior might lead to further embarrassing revelations and that would not do.

Paris took the only pre-emptive measure he could. Praying for luck, he waited for Captain Janeway's gaze to find his.

"Harry, the bridge is yours," she said.

"Tom is going to be preoccupied with running navigational simulations for the remainder of the shift," Chakotay added, steering the Captain away from an immediate confrontation.

"Commander Chakotay, a word… in my ready room? Mr. Paris, oh-seven-hundred with Torres."

_..._

Janeway headed for the replicator.

"Are you sure you want coffee this late?" Chakotay asked.

Ignoring his query, she drew a tentative sip.

Chakotay's attempt to distract her with a dimpled grin failed. The ambient lighting in the ready room did not cast shadows.

"Wouldn't you prefer a nightcap?"

"The way you deftly stepped in when I was drawing a bead on Paris tells me there's a story worth staying up for." She held the mug to her lips, letting the steam rise before scattering the vapors with her breath. "And you are such a good storyteller."

"You know, adding Klingon love poems and an appreciation for Klingon opera to Tom's repertoire might increase his chance of survival."

"He's doomed unless he can kick his libido into warp-drive," Janeway said.

"Or we could order the Doctor to provide a prescription for her. Maybe a 21st century beta blocker or anti-depressant?" Substances notorious for their ability to hasten cognitive decline and dampen the sexual appetite.

"Placing the doctor on stand-by is another alternative" Janeway said, raising a hand. "But personnel problems are your purview. Unless they affect my bridge and the operation of my ship, they are in your capable hands."

"My expertise… is at your disposal, Captain." The ball was always in her court.

"Commander?" The arch of a delicate eyebrow was all it took to reignite the flame that had seared Chakotay's face only minutes earlier. "Spill it."

"The silk sheets." He laughed. "I suspect Tom uses the replicator logs to help calculate his posted odds. Those records may contain a few insignificant inaccuracies." Chakotay winked.

"Are you saying Indiana-summer scented cotton sheets aren't sexy enough?"

"Building the Captain's mystique keeps our gamblers losing to Tom and thus pads the coffers of our mess hall."

"So… just who is the front-runner in the race to win my affection?"

"Sadly, I've taken too long to close the deal and I'm now running third, behind Mike Ayala. However, smart money favors Chell since he has developed an obsession with the culinary arts that you seem to appreciate."

"Every time Neelix gives Chell a cooking lesson, you push me to try every concoction he makes," Janeway griped.

"I never suggested gushing over his pot roast."

"Chakotay, I'm not sure how I'll be able to give you proper credit on your next personnel evaluation for your creativity and deviousness," she said, as she brushed his fingertips.

"Remember I may be Starfleet trained, but I developed my tactical prowess with the Maquis, Kathryn."

"On second thought, Chakotay, I will join you for that nightcap. Should anyone inquire about my location, I've no doubt the computer will relate that I'm safely ensconced in my quarters."


End file.
